


It ain't no life to live like you're on the run

by areyoumarriedriver



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Doctor Who Christmas Special, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 16:24:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5340698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/areyoumarriedriver/pseuds/areyoumarriedriver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I bloody hate Christmas,” he grumbles as he looks around at ruins of the robot before him. At first it’s the loss of Clara – he’d been avoiding the hell out of the holiday before his wife crashed his pity party and dragged his arse halfway across the galaxy, giant robot in tow.</p><p>“Well now I know you can’t possibly be him,” she huffs from beside him, blowing an errant curl out of her face as she rolls her eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It ain't no life to live like you're on the run

**_It ain't no life to live like you're on the run_ **

“I bloody hate Christmas,” he grumbles as he looks around at ruins of the robot before him. At first it’s the loss of Clara – he’d been avoiding the hell out of the holiday before his wife crashed his pity party and dragged his arse halfway across the galaxy, giant robot in tow.

“Well now I _know_ you can’t possibly be him,” she huffs from beside him, blowing an errant curl out of her face as she rolls her eyes.

It’s _that_. River Song’s bloody _refusal_ to listen to reason. Sure, at first he’d been amused by the idea of her not knowing him. She’s older – a professor – and the idea of knowing more than she did had tickled him, he’ll admit. When he’d grown tired of that, he’d thought perhaps this was it – a chance to finally meet her without the weight of their combined history, hanging like an albatross around their necks. A challenge then – to get that look back in her eyes when she gazed at him. Flirting – and who knew this body could flirt? Though if anyone could bring it out in him, it would be _her_. His mad, impossible wife.

But she’d refused to participate. Oh sure, she’d flirted casually – like she did with everyone. And she certainly _had_ flirted with _everyone_. But any time he’d pushed a wee bit further, she’d dug her heels in – ignored him or pretended he wasn’t blatantly hitting on her. Honestly, he’d begun to think she was bit daft until he’d finally gotten frustrated enough that he’d blurted out who he was. And then?

His bloody half-Scottish (Amelia was laughing at him from some other plane of existence he was _sure_ ) had _refused to believe him_. Honestly. _I know all of his faces and you aren’t one – you can’t con a con. Stop it_. And on and on and on until he was fairly certain he could cheerfully wring her bloody neck and be done with it – a widower _twice_ over in the same marriage. Why not?

“I’m losing my patience with you, dear.”

“He’s also never _patient_. Honestly didn’t you do your research? You’re an _awful_ con artist – have you ever done this before?” She furrows her brow as she looks at him, turning away from the pile of bolts she’d just help create, one hand on her hip as she scoffs at him. _Scoffs_.

“Have _you_?”

“Course I have. I’m a _fantastic_ liar,” she pauses and smiles at him brightly. “Among other things. So’s the Doctor. Which you’d know if you did any sort of research at all.”

“What research? The man bloody erased himself from history!” He shouts finally, glaring at her before he shakes his head. “Me, I mean _me_. I erased myself from history – you said I’d got too big, remember?” He takes a moment of pleasure in her reaction, the slightest flicker of her eyes before she disregards what he’d just said with a shake of her head. “You’re worse than your bloody mother. Stubborn as a mule.”

“I am _not_ stubborn,” she protests loudly, ignoring all the others as she jabs at his chest with her trowel. “If you were him you could _prove_ it, but you’re not so _stop it_.” Her voice lowers to a hiss, tension bubbling beneath the surface and for one moment he can see the cracks in her armour. The pain flashing in her eyes as she stares at him, scathingly. “He’s _dead._ Let me mourn.”

“Oh, River. River, River, River – I didn’t die. And I can prove it. Watch me,” he grins for a moment, reaching for her wrist where her vortex manipulator lies, hidden under the sleeve of her leather jacket. It’s simple enough to key in the coordinates before she can even pull back or protest – and with a push of a button they feel the crackle of the time stream – white hot all around them as they land, still smoking slightly. “Sorry, I know what that does to your hair, dear.” He steps back as she focusses on him, glaring as she pokes him in the chest again.

“You bloody idiot! My whole team is back there and we’ve _abandoned_ them, what were you-” She pauses, their surroundings finally penetrating the haze of her anger and she gasps, her grip on her trowel loosening. It clatters to the floor unnoticed. “The TARDIS.” She breathes the words out like a prayer and he nods, his cheeks aching from all this smiling. God it’s like he can’t help himself around her – how had he survived a thousand years of this in his last body?

“Can she lie to you? Her own child? All you have to do is interface with her.” He tries to keep the ‘I told you so’ tone out of his voice but fails spectacularly, judging by the glare she pins him down with. He opens his mouth to offer her help, but misses the blur of movement two seconds too late. And then his ears are ringing and his vision darkens as he feels the shape of her palm, burning in to his face. “Christ, River, what was that for?” He presses a hand to his cheek, hoping to cool the burn as he glares at her.

“You let me think you were dead!” She shouts at him, her gaze livid and her skin flushed. Jesus, she looks _beautiful_ right now, the lights from the TARDIS glowing over her as her eyes spark and hiss with anger.

“What was I supposed to do, send you a fucking postcard? To _when_? I haven’t seen you since it happened! Shite, that fucking _hurt_ River.” He is still clutching his face as he glares right back at her and she is positively shaking – _towering_ with rage.

“When did it happen?”

“Does it _matter_? Given our timelines it could have been two years ago, or fucking two million, the point is that I can’t exactly ring you up and explain now can I? When are we for _you_?”

She stills at that, the colour draining from her face for a moment and she avoids his gaze, moving over to the console and reaching for the interface. Her hands are shaking and he follows her – like a bloody dog on a leash, he can’t seem to let her more than five feet away from him at all times. “Spoilers,” she finally breathes out after she pulls her fingers from the console.

“There aren’t any more spoilers,” he growls, his brow furrowed as he stares at her askance.

“How would _you_ know?” She snaps at him weakly but her voice is shaking and his hearts squeeze together in his chest. He stares at her for a moment and she leans against the console wearily. “What happened?”

“ _Spoilers,_ ” oh he’s just being bloody petulant now, and it feels for a moment as though he’s pulled on his old body – tweed too tight and itchy, he doesn’t like it at all. Even less so when she turns her gaze to him, her eyes big and swimming with tears. Fuck – he doesn’t know what to _do_ with that. He’s utter shite at this this go round. The hugging or the comforting or the _caring_. “I’m being a prick, I don’t mean that.” He offers in lieu of a hug – he’s still not quite certain she won’t slap him again. Better lean away a wee bit, just in case.

She sighs softly and nods, the fight seeming to drain out of her as she looks up at him and – _oh_ – there it is. That look on her face, the softness in her gaze, the _love_ everywhere for him to see. It’s what he’s missed and yearned for this entire time, and here it is. All for him. She reaches up cautiously, sliding her hand on to his face as she studies him like he’s an artifact she’s just uncovered. “Scottish?” She finally smiles slightly and his lips twitch as he shrugs.

“I think we know who to blame for that,” he offers her and she laughs then and the sound is like music, wrapping around him. He reaches up, taking her hand in his and she gasps, lifting their hands and turning her own over until she can run her fingers along his hand, touching his rings reverently. “Oh, aye, those.”

“You said you were a widower,” she looks up at him cautiously and he blinks, nodding. “How long has it been for you?”

“Far too long to count, my River.”

“We’ve done the Towers then?” Her question leaves him gasping for air and he stares at her in shock. No – no how could she have – she _said_ –

“When are we for you River?” He asks a second time, barely able to speak the words as his throat constricts and his chest feels like it is being crushed.

“I last saw you in Manhattan. But it was _such_ a long time ago for me, my love.” A warmth blooms under his skin at the endearment and he finds himself grinning at her like a fool once more. She doesn’t seem to mind, really – he hand tightens over his and she holds his gaze steady. “And before Manhattan… was the Library.”

 _What_?

“What?” He echoes his thoughts, shaking his head. He thought she’d said – he thought-

“It was easy enough Doctor, with enough time in a hard drive that housed every book ever written. Doctor – _please_. What else was I to do but escape?” She beams up at him and his eyes sting as her face blurs.

“You can’t possibly be – that’s not possible.” He repeats himself in his shock and she laughs, a small watery sound that delights him.

“Nothing’s impossible. Who knows that better than you, sweetie?” She grins up at him and shrugs. “You didn’t even notice, you daft man – I had no diary with me then. Had to leave it. Or you kept it – I was never sure which, but I couldn’t go back to check.”

“I didn’t burn Gallifrey. I locked it up tight – unlocked it since then but I was protecting a planet – Christmas,” he offers his own explanation with a grumble at her soft laugh, rolling his eyes. “Shut up. There was a leak – and they gave me another set of regenerations – to find Gallifrey and unlock it, I think. I mean obviously, the sodding arses wouldn’t do it out of the goodness of their hearts.”

“A whole new set?” Her eyes dart over his face and she _beams_ at him, the biggest smile he’s seen grace her face since she roped him in to helping her team out. “Oh Doctor, that’s wonderful.”

“I was ready then. To go on, thought I’d lost you, your parents, so many people. Friends. But they wouldn’t let me – think I was a touch bitter about it this go. Explains the face,” he waves a hand over himself and shrugs. “Attack eyebrows, you know.”

“I like it,” she speaks softly and she is moving closer, making his hearts race a touch faster as he shifts, fighting to remain still. She looks up at him thoughtfully before nodding. “It’s different, I like it.”

“And now you’re here – same page.” He grins and she giggles softly, leaning in to him until her body is pressing against his. Her arms slip around his waist and he gives in, hugging her tightly and burying his face in her hair. “Flirting with everyone but your bloody husband,” he mutters and he feels her frame shake for a moment – a sob catching in her throat at his words and he squeezes her just a touch tighter for it.

“My husband, oh sweetie – I’m sorry,” her words are muffled in his waistcoat until she pulls back, looking up at him. He frowns – he’s still put out by it really, she’d even _snogged_ two guards in front of him. “Oh that was to escape, are you a bit jealous in this body? I think I like that,” she grins smugly and he glares.

“I meant to think that,” he grumbles and she laughs brightly, burrowing in to his side with a content smile.

“Well you didn’t you daft old man.” He’s smiling so much he feels like a shark – all teeth. Her answering grin is just as bright though – lighting up the interior of the TARDIS and he hums, quite unable to stop himself as he sways down toward her. Halfway there he stutters to a standstill – quite unsure what to do. Does he duck, should she lift – where do his hands go exactly? “Bless,” River laughs and rises up, crowding his space and pressing her mouth to his quickly. And _oh_ it is like every repressed memory of her – her mouth, the way she hums when they kiss, the feel of her skin cool under his hands, the curve of her hip, the way she _fits_ him just right – all comes rushing back in an instant. A moment out of time.

When he catches up with himself his hands apparently know what to do – bury themselves in her hair as his mouth opens over hers, savouring the taste of time on her tongue. He untangles his fingers from her curls and his hands tremble as he cups her face, stroking softly as he kisses and kisses her. It is something he could do forever – fuck hugs, _this_ is how he wants to touch her always - limbs shaking in awe of her beauty. When the kisses grow calmer, more content instead of frenzied, more worshipful than wanting, he pulls back, pressing his forehead to hers as they both catch their breath.

She pauses for a moment and beams, looking up at him carefully. “Now what?”

“That’s a ridiculous bloody question – now what?” He pulls back to grin down at her, shaking his head. “Perhaps a seventy-second honeymoon – remind you that all flirting shall be with your husband from here on out.”

“But you’re rubbish at it sweetie,” she laughs up and him as he frowns down at her. She smooths a finger along his brow, bewitching him with a smile.

“Well, practice makes perfect, or so I hear anyway.”


End file.
